


Are You Sure This Isn't a Crazy Coma Dream?

by lucifer20



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, How Do I Tag, Multi, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Swearing, amnesia rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28441056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifer20/pseuds/lucifer20
Summary: Rick wakes up in the hospital with no memories of his past life or even his name. Starting from scratch and trying to build yourself back up is difficult at any time, but especially in the apocalypse with the undead walking around trying to eat people.inspired by other work, tagged at the top of beginning notes
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Lori Grimes/Shane Walsh
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	1. I Have a Nap and Come Back to the Dead Walking

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bare Bones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11664060) by [messersohara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/messersohara/pseuds/messersohara). 



> hi, this is my first work so sorry if its shit or boring haha, just let me know! inspired by another work called Bare Bones which features amnesia Rick, i try to also follow the show, but sorry if any characters seem ooc.  
> *also i've already made some changes to the first chapter, will likely continue to as i find more mistakes, and the title and summary are definitely under revision

He woke up, trying to finish a conversation he couldn’t remember the start of. He tailed off into great, hacking coughs that tore from his bone-dry throat and made his mouth taste of copper. Rolling over, his eyes burned against the light from the windows and he tried to blink through the pain. Sitting up made the muscles in his stomach scream, and the man couldn’t help but wince and clutch at his side, finally noticing the bandage there, as well as the stinging in the back of his hand from tugging on the IV drip. He pulled out the drip from his hand, pushing through the sharp pain, and looked around. He recognised he was in a hospital room, and noted the dead flowers, the stopped clock. The eerie silence. Hospitals were always a hub of energy, nurses flowing to and from rooms, harried doctors walking hurriedly along corridors, the white noise of beeping and whirring machinery and the general din of people talking. Yet it was deathly silent outside the room, bearing down so oppressively the man was scared to break it.  
Swinging his shaky legs out of bed, he shuffled excruciatingly slowly to the door at the side of the room, praying for a bathroom and luckily finding one. Gulping down water from the tap, he was finally able to focus on something other than the dryness of his throat and the headache behind his eyes. He thought of the man who he had been trying to talk to, blurry images of a tall, well-built and dark-haired man, but it was as if he was underwater, and every one of his senses were muffled. He tried to remember anything else and realised he couldn’t. He couldn’t remember his own name, never mind how he got there or who that man was. Even more uncertain of what the hell was going on, he turned back to the room to survey it once more, hoping for clues. Clutching the bathroom door for support, he spots the medical files at the end of the bed, and nearly surges forward with relief before remembering that would be a bad idea. Instead, he hobbles forwards as quickly as he can and nearly collapses on to the rails at the foot of the bed. Tiredly lowering himself down, he grabs the report binder and flicks it open to the first page.   
Richard Grimes. That must be his name then, except it doesn’t exactly sound right, so he plays it through his mind, Richard, Rich, Rick… Rick Grimes. He can’t know for sure if it was his nickname before, but he feels more at peace with Rick than Richard, so he decides to stick with it. Scanning the rest of the page, he finds his date of birth, but it isn’t relevant until he can find todays date, and his medical history. Apparently, he was shot, which surprises him slightly, and had been put into a medically induced coma that he just didn’t wake up from. Looking at the logs, he can see that the incident occurred in May, and the most recent log was from August, and he couldn’t help but also be surprised at the fact he had been in the coma for four months. It also led him back to his question of where everyone had gone. He still hadn’t looked outside yet, but it felt as if the whole place had been abandoned, and he was the only survivor. Scouring the rest of the file, he finds his home address, which would be helpful as soon as he can figure out where he is, and the medication he was on, a simple mix of anti-biotics, pain relief and fluids.  
Taking the paper with his address on, he sets the file aside and stretches his legs out in front of him for a moment before trying to stand again. He admits to himself that he is also just putting off the inevitable need to leave the sanctuary of his hospital room and head into the gloomy corridors. After a few minutes rest and a final drink from the tap, Rick finally gathers the courage to step outside. The door opens without a sound, though the gurney bed parked in front does creak slightly on disused wheels as he shuffles it out the way. It’s much darker with the power down and lights off, no windows to light the way like in his room. Moving cautiously down the corridor, he notes the scent of rot and decay that hangs in the stale and humid air. He finds the nurses station nearly encased in darkness, and quickly attempts to use the phone, but remains unsurprised when it doesn’t even beep. Completely dead. He tries to search through the scattered mess of papers in an attempt to figure out what happened, holding them up to the little light that was available. Finding nothing useful, Rick switches his search to a better light source, going through the draws hoping for a torch but only finding matches. Sweeping his gaze around the small area one last time, he spots a handbag that he nearly missed underneath the desk, clearly forgotten. Emptying the contents onto the desk, he discovers a dead cell-phone, some feminine hygiene products and tissues, some earbuds and a granola bar. Taking the snack-bar and matches he leaves the desk disappointed but unsurprised at his lack of information about what happened.  
Moving along further down the corridor, Rick nearly misses the door signposted as a pharmacy, and jolts to a stop. Trying the door, Rick can’t believe his luck when it swings open to a small storage room with neatly arranged and labelled bottles. Doubling back, he grabs the handbag from the desk, feeling slightly ridiculous but ignoring it in the face of practicality. Grabbing what antibiotics, pain relief and anti-inflammatories he recognises, as well a few bottles of the stuff off his sheet, Rick fills half the bag with the medication. If this hospital had been over-run, who knows when he would need it in the future.   
Having completed his mission of raiding the floors pharmacy, he continues along his path down the corridor, noting with more and more anxiety the blood splatters along the walls. Turning right, he walks through the double doors signifying the end of the ward he was in and freezes at the scene before him. A woman, or what used to be a woman is on the ground, and has clearly been torn apart, and even some parts of her look like somethings been chewing on it. Feeling queasy, and suddenly very aware of the granola bar he ate five minutes ago, Rick edges around the body, trying to avoid the pools of dried blood and averting his eyes. He can’t help but wonder again about what on earth went on whilst he was asleep. Feeling even more on edge, Rick carried on tiptoeing down the hallway, searching for anything else that would be useful in the dim light. Near the end of the hallway, before it splits off again, he finds another door labelled lost and found and ducks inside, desperate to be out of the flimsy hospital gown and boxers. Leaving the door open slightly to let some light from the corridor in Rick searches through the boxes, finding some beat up trainers that fit at a push but seem comfortable, and some joggers that he needs to roll the waistband down on a few times whilst tying the drawstrings as tightly as he can. Digging around a bit more, he finds a plain t-shirt that seems to be the right size and gratefully slips it on, discarding the paper gown for good. Switching to another box, he starts to look through left bags, finding a decent sized rucksack and transferring everything he’d found into that, putting the sheet with his address on in the front zip pocket and keeping the box of matches in his pocket for easy access.  
Looking left and right before he stepped out again, Rick felt a bubbling mix of exhaustion, strained from moving around so much, so quickly after an apparent four-month-long bedrest, and creeping anxiety, the longer he traipsed down corridors splattered with blood stains and an unsettling lack of people. Powering on, he was aiming for the back staircase when he came across the chained and padlocked doors, heavy planks barricaded across, reminiscent of medieval throne rooms. Spray-painted across the doors was, “DON’T OPEN DEAD INSIDE”. Rick stopped, hovering in front of the doorway. What would it matter if there were dead inside? Why would they need to barricade the doors the thoroughly? And then he heard the groans and shuffling, and the crack in the door started to widen as whatever was on the other side started to push. Rick gasped, startled when a human hand, discoloured with black rotting nails, but undeniably human, poked through the gap, outstretched towards him. Stumbling back, he watched in morbid fascination as more hands joined the one to stretch out, the groaning and moaning noises getting louder and louder on the other side. Turning tail, Rick ran for the stairwell, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Slamming the fire exit door shut and wincing at the resounding echo that reverberated in the empty shaft, Rick fumbled for the matches, overtly aware of the darkness and trying to listen past the blood rushing in his ears. Striking one, he skimmed over the map pinned to the wall and saw he had to head two flights downwards. Grasping onto the railing, rick began the arduous climb down, his already aching muscles screaming at him at the effort. It felt as if it took a lifetime before he finally reached the bottom, striking his last match in order to find the door for the exit at the bottom of the stairwell. Lurching forward, he pressed heavily on the bar across the door, and stepped out into the sweltering heat and blinding light.   
Nearly crying out in pain, Rick sheltered his eyes with his arm before his other senses caught up, and he nearly gagged at the smell. Covering the courtyard was hundreds of bodies, most of which wrapped in white sheets, but all left to decay in the scorching heat. Flies buzzed around and Rick smacked at a few, waving his arms around to ward them off as he headed desperately for the exit. He scrambled up the hill and stumbled through the abandoned army base, noticing the bodies of the few soldiers left, all shot in the head. Mercy killings? Even so, the routine behaviour, the way every soldier -or officer- had been shot in the head seemed significant, even if Rick couldn’t understand why. Wondering around, he picked up a few guns left in the middle of the ground, surprised at his seemingly innate knowledge of how, but figuring he must have worked with guns before, having been shot and all. Maybe he had been one of these soldiers, or on the police force. However, all the guns left lying around were out of ammo, and Rick didn’t hold much hope. Ducking carefully into tents, he found what must have been the head officer’s tent, what with the small desk and chairs set up in the area. Moving forward, he scanned the desk, relieved to find a map. Quickly locating the hospital, he pulled out the information sheet with his address on and located it on the map, only a couple miles from where he was. Pulling it from where it was wedged under paper weights and other stacks of paper on the table, Rick stuffed the both the hospital sheet and the map into his rucksack. Exhausted already at the thought of walking for another two miles, Rick did one last search around, finding an army issue knife and sticking it his pocket for now, as well as some rations and water bottles. Shoving a few of the ration bars in his bag, he drank one of the bottles straight away and grimaced at the warm taste. Putting a couple extra into his bag as well he decided to move on and try and get back to his house before daylight faded.   
Still feeling unnerved from the carnage in the hospital corridors, and the number of bodies with bullet wounds in the head, but the distinct lack of other living people, Rick headed down the road with as much haste as his drained body would allow. Meeting the intersection, he looked both ways out of habit before cutting through the park and began brainstorming everything he needed to gather. More food and water was top of the list, alongside some clothes that fit properly he thought as he yanked the joggers up again. Other supplies, like blankets and torches for at night, as well as something to start a fire with he imagined. If everyone else had left populated areas, he figured it was better off if he stayed here for the shortest time possible as well.   
Stooping to pick up a bike that had been abandoned, figuring it would get him home quicker even if it would tire him out more, he stopped at the sight of the woman missing her lower half. It was unclear if she’d been in a crash or just simply torn apart like the woman in the hospital, and the body had the femur bone and entrails dragging behind her as she pulled herself towards him with decaying arms. Bile burned at the back of his throat, and Rick pondered on what to do. The woman was clearly dead, and he was coming to terms with the idea of reanimated corpses (even if he was still uncertain whether it was a coma dream or not), and he had noticed the pattern of all the skulls of the “properly” dead bodies having been destroyed. He figured that the brain had something to do with it. Stepping forward as the body inched towards him, Rick uncertainly unsheathed the knife and held it loosely in his hand. Making his decision, he stepped forward again with more conviction and brought the knife down on the woman’s skull as she looked up, jaws mashing and clacking. Instantly she stilled, and Rick still felt a moment of horror, as if he had truly killed her, before reminding himself she was already dead, evident by her missing lower half and evident state of decay. A mercy killing, he reminded himself, wiping the knife off on the grass beside him before standing again. Getting on the bike, he carried on along the road and ignored the burn in his calves, hoping to follow the road signs as well as the path he had memorised from the map.   
Arriving at the house, his house, he observed it from the outside for a moment before heading in. Testing the front door, he found it locked, which he took as a good sign it hadn’t been broken into. He swiftly located the key in a quick search around the front porch, finding it half under the plant-pot next to the door. Swinging the door open, he stepped inside and looked at his house for the first time again. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the very minimalist and barren white walls, wondering if he really had the right house. Unsure what to make of it, he carried on through to the kitchen, looking for water or food again, but the tap wouldn’t run, and he couldn’t find any leftover bottled water. Searching the cupboards, they appeared barren, but he supposed that would make sense if he had been in a coma for months. Towards the back of one pair, he discovered some tins of vegetable soup and beans as well as chopped tomatoes. Leaving the tomatoes, he stuffed the other two into his rucksack, squeezing the zipper back up over the bulge. Searching the draws, he found the odds and ends draw and was surprised to find small toys from candies as well as hair ties and odd pieces of jewellery. Did he have a family? Looking around once again, he noticed the drawings pinned to the fridge, the well-done certifications from schools. Lurching back over, he read the name on the front desperately. Carl Grimes. Carl. He had a son. He was shocked, but it also felt right. The name clicked into place in his head, like Rick had, and he knew his next mission would be to find and protect his boy, no matter what. Looking around, he tried to find evidence of his apparent wife’s name, but couldn’t find anything. He looped around, heading back towards the front door before going upstairs.   
Moving away from the landing, the first door on the right was a bathroom, and Rick finally saw himself in a mirror. He saw he had a little bit of stubble, which helped to hide how gaunt his face looked after months of not eating properly. Nutrients though an IV could only do so much. He also was sweating, and had deep bags under his eyes, emphasising his exhaustion. Looking away, he opened the cupboard underneath, but was unsurprised it had been mostly wiped clean. Taking an extra toothbrush that lay in its packaging, as well as a razor, he shoved both in the front pocket of the bag, before moving on in an attempt to find another bag. Opening the door opposite however, he came to a halt at the sight of a young boy’s room. Looking around, he saw posters and drawings of superheroes and book characters tacked to the walls, and above the bed spread with the avengers on was a stick drawing of a small stick, a woman stick with long brown hair, and another stick with a sheriff’s hat on. Well, that solves the question of what his job had been, Rick thought half-heartedly as his fingers trailed the drawing, an emotion he couldn’t name welling in his throat. He became even more determined to find his boy, could tell they had obviously got out with the intent of going somewhere judging by the toys and clothes thrown everywhere. He refused to consider his family wasn’t still alive, that they could be one of the bodies walking around out there. Moving to the open closet, he found a sports bag stuffed in there, and gratefully picked it up, transferring his food and water into it, keeping the medicine and map as well as one extra water bottle in the backpack.   
Moving further down the corridor, he came to the second door on the left, and found the master bedroom. Tastefully decorated, he could see the obvious woman’s touch, with a vanity in the corner in front of the window as well, flowers dead in a vase on the sill. Opening the wardrobe, he saw the obvious and neat split between women’s and men’s clothing, and quickly picked out some lighter jeans that seemed appropriate, as well as another plain white shirt, at least one that would fit properly. Shifting through the rest of the clothes, he found another pair of thicker denim jeans that seemed a bit sturdier, as well as another thin t-shirt and a long sleeve top. Towards the back, he found some flannels and a thicker jacket that he stuffed into the sports bag, thinking it would be more suitable to for night (as well as the coming winter months). At the bottom of the wardrobe, resting on the floor he found a few pairs of shoes lined up, and swapped his beat-up trainers for some durable yet comfortable looking hiking boots which already appeared to be well broken in. satisfied with his find of some decently fitting clothes, he moved on to the draws, finding a Python and ammo alongside a gun belt in one of the higher up ones, as well as a key-ring filled with keys that he would bet money on opened up the police station, and the gun cage. Buckling the belt into place -which has the added bonus of helping to hold up his jeans due to weight loss from the coma- he slide the Python into the holster, storing the extra ammo in his backpack for now. Sliding the knife into a slot on the belt as well, he felt more prepared to defend himself in case of an attack. Searching the rest of the drawers, he chucked a couple extra pairs of boxers, briefs, and socks into the sports bag, but was unable to find anything that had his wife’s name written on it. Frustrated, he searched the rest of the room for any evidence of her name, as well as wracking his brain, to no avail.   
Heading back downstairs, he went through to the other side of the house, cutting through the dining room to get to the garage. Cracking open the front door to allow more light in, he searched the shelves, happy to find a box of camping gear, finally transferring all of his stuff into one big hiking and camping bag, though he kept one bottle of water, some of the ration bars, as well as the map and ammo in his rucksack in case. He struck gold again when he found a sleeping bag and roll mat that could be attached to the camp bag, as well as some heavy-duty torches and lighters. Putting them all into the bag, he moved onto the next box, which mostly seemed to consist of winter clothing. Chucking in a pair of gloves, Rick frowned at the number of coats, and couldn’t help but hope that his wife, whoever she was, had the fore-thought to grab some warmer clothing, not just every photo that had been in the house apparently. Moving on, but mostly finding baby clothes, Rick gave up searching through the boxes, going back to scanning the shelves. Tucked away in the corner, Rick found a baseball bat, and held it up, giving it a few testing swings. Juggling it consideringly from hand to hand, he decided to keep it, before heading back into the house. Unfolding the map on the dining room table, he considered his next steps. Now that he knew he used to be a police officer, and assuming that the keys he found with the gun and belt opened up the sheriff’s station, he reckoned heading there would be his next best bet. He considered what he should do after that, but decided to stick to small goals for now, especially as he had no clue where his family could have gone. To a refugee centre, to meet other family or friends, to try and make it on their own out in the wilderness? He didn’t know, and could only hope to find more answers at the police station. Decision made, he turned around to be wacked in the head by a spade. His vision blurry, as if he was underwater once again, he turned to look at the short figure above him. “Daddy, Daddy. Come quick! I got one, he was in the house!”   
“…Carl?” Rick asked, voice light and eyesight hazy.  
“Who’s Carl?”  
Another face appeared above him, sounding both aggressive and concerned as he asked the boy if the man had spoken. “You know they don’t speak son. You there, are you awake?”  
Rick couldn’t keep up, his head was being swallowed in darkness, and he felt panic creep up, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything about it. “Wha’?” he asked distantly, trying to remember if he knew who this man was, but he couldn’t remember anything.  
“Have you been bit?” The other man demanded tersely, staring down at Rick. But all he did was echo faintly, “Bit?” before promptly passing out.


	2. Yes, I slept through the end of the world. Now please help me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick wakes up to Morgan's caring and attentive beside table manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so short, the only things im good at are procrastinating and making curry

Rick woke up once again in bed with what felt like a marching band stomping through his head, ricocheting from one ear to the other. Groaning, he shifted around, trying to recognise where he was this time, but was hindered by ropes tied around his wrists, attached to the headboard. Instantly more alert, Rick lifted his head, scanning the room and seeing the boy from before standing guard in the corner near the doorway, looking nervous but also grimly determined. The man from before walked in, who Rick figured must be the boy’s father, and walked up to the bed, stopping in front of it with a matching grim, determined expression. “Were you bit?” he asked, staring Rick down, a hand hovering over the knife at his side, an obvious threat (that was slightly unnecessary) to not mess about. Rick tried to put as much honesty into his words as he could, despite the fact he didn’t really know what the other man was on about, “No, no, I wasn’t bit.”  
“Scratched? Nipped? Anything from one of them?” The stranger carried on, a harried look on his face.  
“Nothing like that at all. I was shot, I woke up in the hospital today. I was just trying to find my home, my family,” Rick explained, feeling more desperate as the seconds ticked by and the man didn’t seem any more likely to believe him, “please.”  
“You woke up today? You expect me to believe you slept through the end of the world?” The other man asked incredulously.  
“It’s the truth, I swear it,” Rick answered gravely, trying to convey with his tone and eyes alone about how serious he was. The other man hesitated for another moment before sighing heavily and stepping forward, the knife brandished forward. Rick felt panic well, and started to struggle against the ties more, trying to back away with no where to go and no way to move, stopping when the other man leaned in and spoke, “I believe you, so far for now anyway, and I’m going to cut you lose. At this point, you should be delirious with fever if you were infected, but if your condition seems to worsen, or if you even look at me or my boy wrong, I will not hesitate to cut your throat. Understood?” Rick nodded, a breath of relief escaping through his nose even as he kept his mouth clammed shut, afraid to say anything and set the other man off. “Alright then” The stranger responded, before finally reaching up and cutting the ties on his wrists. Waiting until the other man had moved away, Rick slowly lowered his arms, massage his wrists and rolling his shoulders to get the blood flowing again. “Thank you. I’m Rick”  
“Morgan,” the other man, Morgan now, nodded, “and this here is my boy Duane.” Duane stepped forward, politely saying “Hello,” before stepping back again, glancing up at his father.   
“Now, you mentioned a gunshot wound. I’ll believe you for now when you say you haven’t been bitten or scratched, but do you want me to take a look at it?”  
Rick hesitated, slightly anxious to be lying down again with some looking so closely at an obvious vulnerability, especially someone who seemed to have no qualms about killing him, before deciding to take the olive branch that had clearly been extended, saying, “I’d like that very much, thank you.”  
Having explained his story of how he woke up in the hospital, having no memories (which had led to a shocked interjection from Duane, “No way ya didn’ know who ya was before!” and a sharp response from his father, “Duane.”   
looking admonished, Duane repeated, “No way you didn’t know who you were before,” receiving a nod from his father and a chuckle from Rick, who couldn’t help but admire their easy banter and clearly practiced routine, wonder if he had been like that with his son before) and no idea where he was, his attempts to figure out what on earth had gone on and mission to get home, now replaced with a mission to find his family, his own son. Whilst replacing the bandage, Morgan explained and filled in all the gaps in Rick’s knowledge, “We call them walkers. If you get bit or scratched by one, you get infected, and the fever… the fever kills you. Then you come back, but you’re not the same. As far as we know, destroying the brain is the only way to kill them.” 

After, all three of them moved into the living room, Morgan and Duane settling onto the mattress the must have dragged downstairs, Rick sitting across from them with a blanket wrapped around him. Whilst they ate, Rick started to explain his plan to go to the police station (“With keys you only think open it up?” Morgan countered, scepticism evident but a friendly smile on his face) before he was interrupted by an alarm sounding outside, making all of them jump. Rick noted how both Morgan and Duane had automatically grabbed their weapons, left within reaching distance, and wondered how long it would take for him to react the same way, to become so paranoid. Morgan moved towards the window, and Rick stood up to join him and Duane dimmed the lights, another clearly practiced motion. “That blue one down the street. It did this a few weeks ago too. Sound draws them in,” Morgan explained, before Rick felt him tense beside him. Duane, who had crept up to the window flung himself away, loud sobs breaking from his mouth as he shook. Morgan moved just as quickly to comfort him, hushing the boy and holding him, bringing a pillow for him to cry into to muffle the sound. Rick remained awkwardly by the window, concerned but unsure what to do, and peeked back outside, trying to see what had upset the pair both so much. Looking back, he could see Morgan watching him, and he went to ask, “what- “  
“at the beginning, we were heading to Atlanta, they said the had a refugee centre there, but on the way, she- she got bit,” Morgan’s voice broke and he sharply looked away, before turning back to look at Rick, “we ended up holing up here, try and wait for her to get better, but that fever man, its something else. It just burns you up. And after, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it,” he stared at Rick desperately, begging him with his eyes to understand, “She’s the mother of my child, my wife, and I couldn’t do it. So, we ended up staying here after.”   
Rick stared back at the other man, unsure what to say. What could he possibly say to comfort the other man? Instead, he chose to focus on what he felt he could talk about, “Atlanta had a refugee centre?”   
“Yeah, yeah, was supposed to be protected by the military and shit, it was one of the last things to broadcast before everything cut out,” Morgan replied, still shushing Duane and rocking him.  
“My family could be there” Rick said decisively, glad to have a physical place to start looking at, rather than vague ideas of where they might go, such as to meet up with family, with no memory of where any them actually were. Morgan looked up, and Rick could see the doubt on his face before the other man shrugged, conceding a low, “Could be.”   
“Come with me to the police station tomorrow,” Rick said, “You can have some of the guns as long as they’re still there, and I feel like I could use the help while I still get the hang of this. And then, after that” Rick hesitated before powering on, “I’d like you to consider coming to Atlanta with me.” Instantly, Rick could see the protest on Morgan’s face and cut him off before he could voice his rejection, “Just think about it, you don’t have to confirm anything yet. But you seem like good people who would deserve the help,” Rick finished, and sat back down across from them. Morgan watched him for a moment, clearly thinking about it before his eyes flicked to the window and Rick knew he was thinking of the woman he loved.   
“We’ll see.” 

***

The next morning was nice, if a little awkward. After Rick’s offer last night, Morgan had been quiet, and they didn’t speak again the rest of the night. Rick wasn’t too worried about it though, and was instead glad that at least Morgan appeared to be giving it some serious thought. After eating a small breakfast of food bars and beans, over which Rick and Duane mostly talked, Duane filling Rick in on all the superheroes and the plot of all the marvel movies he had forgotten about, clearly enjoying talking about it to someone who was happy to listen. Rick smiled and nodded along, asking questions at appropriate times or asking for clarification at some points, generally enjoying himself but also wondering about his own son, Carl, and the superhero posters and bedspread he had found in his room. He was glad to learn about all the stuff his own son also had a clear interest in for when they reunited. Morgan watched, smiling at the scene with his own son enjoying himself so much, rare since the end of the world and even rarer since his mother had passed away. 

After eating, they prepared for their trip, going over the map one last time, even though Morgan was pretty certain he knew where he was going from doing runs around the town. Rick ended up putting the ammo, spare water and food as well as the map into the bigger bag in order to conserve space and make it easier to more, rather than awkwardly try to carry two bags. Armed, the three walked quickly but as quietly as possible, trying to avoid drawing attention from the walkers. Morgan and Rick took point, with Duane in between them in a silent, unanimous decision. Using the bat, Rick took out a couple walkers on the way to the station, but was quickly becoming winded, still unused to the physical activity. He couldn’t help but huff a breath of relief as the station came into view, swinging the bag off his shoulder and grabbing the keys from one of the smaller side pockets before trying to match one to the door, only getting it on the fourth try and Morgan and Duane stood on guard. Moving inside, Rick looked cautiously around for any walkers that could’ve been trapped inside or could be coming in from another entrance. Only once the three of them had searched the building did they relax. 

They regrouped in the main foyer before moving on to find the gun cage. Rick found it unnerving that he had worked here for however long and had no recollection of it, the way nothing seemed familiar at all was especially off-putting. It could have been any other building to him, where it should be full of memories, either happy, or stressed or sad. Pushing it to the back of his mind, he moved forward with the keys in hand to unlock the door, stepping in and passing guns back to Morgan. Whilst they discussed the weapons, how to split them and the possibilities of teaching Duane, the boy carried on exploring the police station (with permission from his father). In the middle of shoving ammo in the gun bag, the men heard the boy exclaim from deeper in the station, both looking up in panic as the boy shouted, “Dad! Dad! Come quick!” Rushing forward, the men unsheathed their weapons, expecting the worst. They burst into the room, eyes darting frantically and weapons raised before Duane called, “Hot water!” He was stood to the side of the room, already undressing with the shower running. Laughing, Rick and Morgan both relaxed before following suit, not wanting to pass up what was probably one of the last opportunities to have hot water and get properly clean for a good long while. Soaking under the stream, Rick tilted his head back and smiled, hoping that the duo would agree to come with him to Atlanta. He felt he had already bonded with both of them and desperately wanted them all to stick together. 

So, when Morgan refused to come, Rick couldn’t help but sardonically think that this is how the rest of his life would go in the apocalypse. Despite his disappointment, Rick could understand Morgan’s reasoning, his inability to move on from the woman he loved. Hell, Rick couldn’t even remember his wife, but he was going to try his absolute hardest to find her. Giving Morgan the other police radio he had found, Rick smiled, “I can’t fault you for that. But when you decide you’re ready, when Duane’s trained a little with the gun, you come find me. I’ll wait for you in Atlanta. Use the walkie at dawn everyday and I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”  
“thank you, Rick,” Morgan smiled back, “Good luck with finding your family.”  
“Thank you for everything,” Rick responded earnestly, trying to convey his gratitude, “Without you, I’d still have no clue what was happening, where I was going, and would probably be dead or getting gnawed on like a dog toy in a ditch somewhere,” he laughed. Hugging the pair good-bye, with and extra fist bump for good luck from Duane, Rick hoisted both his camping bag and newly found gun bag onto his back, heading for the police cruiser. In a slightly guilty move, he thought if there was a lot of traffic people may let him through more, though judging by the state of the cars around here he had no idea what the highways would be like. And even without that possible extra bonus, didn’t everyone want to ride a cop car? And seeing as he couldn’t remember doing it in his previous life… he may as well still take the chance whilst he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys, so know it is tagged as Rick/Daryl (and it will be) but it is gonna be a slow burn as want to keep them as in character as i possibly can with my shoddy writing skills. this means that i plan for Rick to still be trying to get back to his wife and child and be the happy family again like in season one, except this time its even worse as he doesnt remember the issues he and lori had before the coma. hes going to realise whats going on between shane and lori pretty quickly tho and then resolve that. at that point the whole Rick/Lori thing will be in the past and he can start *bonding* with Daryl.   
> just wanted to let you all know the plan with that lol, in case you were wondering.   
> also once again, im a lazy bitch, so sorry if there are some really awful grammatical/spelling/sentence structure errors in this (knowing me there probably is) but im really bad at checking over my work so here it is. Sorry again lol.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading the first chapter, sorry again if it's bad lol. once again, credit where credits due and i got the idea from this fic from messersohara, please go check out their work!  
> let me know if you picked up any issues with spelling or grammar, i've ended up mostly writing and posting this in the middle of the night so god knows what could've slipped past :)


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